


Norkian

by EdgarAllenPoet



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Demons, Dubious consent to forming a bond with a patron, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Gen, Warlocks, morally ambiguous choices, trickery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 21:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17836454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: My DnD character was an acolyte, who upon discovering a horrible conspiracy in her church, accidentally made a pact with a demon, started a revolution, got excommunicated and imprisoned, and woke up a warlock.  We only ever communicate in dreams, and I'm not sure if the DM is doing this on purpose or not, but the patron is a different person every time we meet.





	Norkian

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a character study as I obsess over this excellent situation and write myself as the star of our DnD campaign. Y'know. Business as usual.

They try on a different personality every time you meet them.

 

The first time you met, you were in the library.  It was two a.m. and the shadows hung heavy between the stacks and under your eyes.  You ought to have been in bed hours ago, but the light of your candle and the rush of adrenaline as you tracked through pages and text and  _ secrets _ , pasting together mysteries that ought to have been left alone- well, that was enough fire in your veins to keep your eyes open.  You barely even blinked.

 

They appeared in front of you, clad in the same brown robe and shaved head, their eyes glowing a bit too bright behind a stack of books as they dropped them on the table before you and said, “I’m here to help.”

 

And, “I can’t believe someone else figured it out.”

 

And, “We have to do something about this.” 

 

And you trusted them- you trusted this fellow student and the way their face was bright with confidence and eyebrows steeled in resolution.  They were already in too deep, you could tell, and morally you were in the same boat. Your god demanded justice and righteousness. Your people were not seeing that through.  

 

If the target was justice, well… somebody had to do  _ something _ .  It was good not to be alone.  

 

You drew up a plan that night, the two of you, hunched over your table in the candlelight in the furthest corner of the library as midnight turned to dawn and your candle served its full purpose.  They held out their hand at the end of this, trembling in a way that was barely noticeable and could be easily attributed to the anxiety that came from plotting a revolution. They said, “Do we have a deal?” 

 

And before you, you saw a young man.  You saw a teammate. You saw an opportunity to serve your god.  You didn’t see any reason to question it. 

 

You took their hand and shook it.  “We have a deal.” 

  
  


\------------

  
  


You woke up in jail, and from your first moment meeting these strangers who would eventually turn friends, you had to wonder what you’d gotten yourself into.  They’d abandoned you, your partner in crime, the moment things started to go south. You had to wonder how they vanished so successfully, quite literally into the shadows.  Magic users didn’t typically join the fold, and even if they did, they didn’t  _ practice _ .  That’s not what they were they for. 

 

But they disappeared, and your life moved on as you met a princess from another realm and three of the most dangerous people you’ve ever met.  They asked for your story. You kept it to yourself. They sat on theirs as well. You went on an adventure. You shot fire out of your hands, and in a move that both incapacitated your teammates and the wolves attacking you, learned that you could pull thunder from the air as well.

 

It wasn’t until days later- the events of which would have filled years in your previous, mediocre life- that you met them again.  You close your eyes in sleep, and blink them open into darkness, where the boy you met before is both entirely the same and barely recognizable. 

 

Cloaks this time, black as night, and an attitude that wraps around you like a python as they creep closer.  They call you ‘love’ and stroke their knuckles down your cheek, scold you for getting distracted, and you ask them who exactly they think they are.

 

They change pace rather quickly, realizing that a student from the monastery isn’t one to be easily seduced.  They don’t tell you who they are, instead telling you that you’ll come to know. “We have a deal, remember?” they ask, and you do, though you can’t be sure what that means anymore.  You have to wonder if the power you have now comes from them. 

  
  


\------------

 

The third time you meet they’re furious, spitting mad as they pace and throw their hands about, going on about recklessness and safety and how you came  _ this _ close to dying.  You ask why it’s any of their business, and they reach into their chest and form a chain in their hand.  When they tug on the chain, it lurches you forward. 

 

“We’re connected,” they hiss.  “If you die,  _ I  _ die.”  

 

You have to wonder if this was a bad decision for them to make, hinging their life upon yours so precariously before thrusting you out into a world of rebellions and demons and magic.  That afternoon you’d nearly died at the hands of your bishop, a man whose words you’d once thought were as sacred as the words of god itself. You set him on fire, as well, and your teammate decapitated him.  You had to wonder if this isn’t what your new  _ friend _ wanted, seeing as they were in it for the rebellion and all. 

 

Their anger quickly faded and was replaced quickly by exhaustion that left them slumping with their elbows on their knees and their face in their hands.  “Just be more careful,” they say as you begin to wake. They begin to fade. “You. Cannot. Die,” they say, and then “Love you, bye!” 

 

And then you’re awake. 

  
  


\---------------

  
  


Weeks pass, and after three days of near death experiences, you find yourself in another dream.  That afternoon alone, you’d gone unconscious five times, rolling the dice of fate desperately each time and biting your nails at the outcome.  But you’d gotten through it with the help of a bard and far too many healing spells, you and the others had made it out alive with yet another decapitated head and allegiance pledged to two more criminal organizations. 

 

Your life was not exactly on track anymore.

 

You expected to be greeted by anger, but as the dream faded in the worst words they said were, “I really wish I’d had time to prep you for this,” before the chain between you became solid and a mighty claw emerged from the sky, hooking into it and launching you into the air as you and your patron as dragged upwards. 

 

You’re left dangling, the two of you, with chains hooked in the middle of your chest as a mammoth, silvery draconian face looks you over, and while your patron stutters over their words and excuses, you find yourself struck speechless in the literal presence of god. 

 

Bahamut is merciful enough to leave you with your life, a glowing scale, and an order to work for justice.  You swear to it. You’d swear to anything. This was your path all along. When They leave you, you and your patron are left alone, and you meet yet another version you’ve never been acquainted with before. 

 

Previous versions of them had been the student, youthful and excited and  _ human _ , as well as bewitching, strict, seething, and finally a friend.  You were not sure if the last time were an act or a glimpse of the truth, but it wasn’t like you had much time to think on it. 

 

Currently they were pacing, hands still shaking slightly as they ran their fingers through their hair, face stricken with an expression that was both entirely childish and sheepish.  

 

“So, um, like, obviously you can tell this is awkward for me,” they said, still pacing.  “And it has to be awkward for you. I mean, Bahamut and all, and after killing his bishop, and I really wasn’t expecting Them to track us down.  I mean, I’m used to being a big fish in a small pond, you know? And They are, quite entirely, a big fish in an  _ ocean _ .” 

 

You’ve never been afraid of them, but seeing them like this makes it even easier to relinquish the control you try and hold on your tongue.  You say, “Yeah, that was pretty shit,” and when they go through the ‘big fish, small pond,’ routine, you chuckle. “You were pretty much shaking in your boots out there.”

 

They turn to you with narrowed eyes, but you’re too tired to entertain the thought of being threatened.  “Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with here?” they ask, and the truth is, you still haven’t quite figured it out in the first place. 

 

“Have you forgotten who has this?” you counter, holding up the glistening scale.  They huff out a breath and roll their shoulders. 

 

“Do you even know how to use it?” they snap, and though you’ve never been good at lying, you choke one out. 

 

“... Yes,” you say. “Obviously.” 

 

“I am  _ quite literally _ in your head.  I know your every thought and intention, you cannot lie to me.  You have no idea what to do with that scale, and you wouldn’t use it even if you figured it out.  Watch your attitude, because I may be a big fish in a small pond, but you are a  _ tadpole. _  You answer.  To me.” 

 

You watch them for a moment, their chest heaving and fists clenched, and you’re intrigued by how thrown off they are.  How out of control they almost always seem to be, despite who they’re pretending to be in that moment. “Yeah,” you agree eventually.  “We’re quite literally stuck together.” You pull on the chain for emphasis. They close their eyes for a moment and breathe.

 

“We’ll figure out a way to make this work,” they say eventually. “You can serve Them, and we can still work on the plan.” 

 

Slowly you nod, and you jingle the chain just a little.  “I know,” you say, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

“If you could try to die a bit less too, that would be nice,” they say as their tone changes, all hints of severity washing off of them and you have to wonder how young they are, in terms of their own existence.  If they’d ever done this sort of thing before. “I’ll try and help you out more, see if I can channel anymore of my power.”

 

You nod again, and they nod back wearily, and with the flick of a wrist they wave you off.  You awaken in a cold sweat, clutching a dragon scale, and wondering if all agreeing to serve your god makes you a cleric. 

 

Screaming distracts you.

 

In a terribly long fight, after a terribly long week, you run to find the most mysterious of your teammates in a battle to the death with an elf who could be your clone.  Your teammate screams at you all to stay back, and ironically the soldier of your group is the most eager to oblique. They fight with venom and knives and whips, with scathing words that suggest this rivalry goes way,  _ way _ back.  You wonder how long elves live.  

 

You’re swarmed in bugs in a fit of revenge, and the violence of it after so many close calls and far too little sleep nearly knocks you all flat.  But when your teammate comes out triumphant, and the bugs drop like pebbles to the floor, you stare into the room at the corpse and the blood and your  _ teammate _ and wonder if she feels as lost as you are. 

 

The soldier leaves almost immediately, throwing herr hands up and swearing that if it happened again, she was  _ not _ helping.  The rogue, your detective, stood silently.  He shook his head before muttering that he didn’t know what was going on, and that he didn’t  _ care _ , but that she’d better not refuse their help in a fight ever again.  He retreated to bed. 

 

That left the two of you, the corpse, and the insects.  You shift your weight from one foot to the other and ask the first question that comes to mind, “What the fuck?” 

 

“An assassin.” 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

She shrugs, and you figure if anyone is after something like that, it’s her. 

 

“Should we be ready for that to happen again?  The assassin thing?” 

 

Her answer is, “Yes, definitely.  Anytime between tomorrow and every other possible day afterwards,” which isn’t actually very helpful.  You think of your own room, dark and haunted, and of how you would feel after the unfortunate series of events of her evening. 

 

“Do you want me to stay?” you ask, and she raises an eyebrow. 

 

“You want to spend the night,” she says slowly.  “In here. With the corpse, and the dead insects… and me.”  

 

You very quickly change your mind, but after retreating to the hallway, you find yourself sliding down the wall instead of heading to your own room.  She said to be ready, any time between tomorrow and every day after that. So you pull your dagger and brace your back against the wall, and this time when you sleep, you’re left entirely alone.


End file.
